


Kattegat Nursery School for Tiny Vikings

by SavvySparrow



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Preschool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1680113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SavvySparrow/pseuds/SavvySparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At "Kitty-Cat" Nursery School, no one can pronounce the name properly, everyone seems to think the only volume settings are Loud and Louder, and every activity is an adventure in how to make the biggest mess in the least amount of time.</p>
<p>Time for Athelstan's first day in the toddler classroom of his new preschool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kattegat Nursery School for Tiny Vikings

It was widely accepted in professional circles that Kattegat Nursery School was The Place You Didn't Want To Get Called Into. If one of the contract staff were sick and needed the day off, everyone else's phones seemed to mysteriously stop working, or go immediately to voicemail. When it came time for group trips that required collaboration with other schools, secret lots were drawn in staff rooms to see who would be stuck with Kattegat. Student teachers requested transfers. Parents who considered themselves the "elite" of child-rearing kept their cherub cheeked, Ralph Lauren wearing children at a safe distance.

It should have been endearing when, after a group of children couldn't properly pronounce the name of the school, the staff painted a smiling face of a kitten on the building's front sign. It was an unfortunate circumstance that cheap paint and soggy weather meant the smiling cat had developed warped, streaked fangs that grinned with Cheshire-like menace to anyone that approached the building.

The nickname, at least, had stuck, so "Kitty-Cat" Nursery School it remained. It didn't make it any more charming, for those who knew of it. One little boy, on this day in particular, had stared at the sign with wide-eyed astonishment as he was carried into the building.

If new staff were rare, new students were even more so, which left the man currently standing in the front supervisor's office with a hefty amount of paperwork to fill out.

Father Cuthbert had been in the field of social work for over 30 years, and never once in that time had the Lindy Preschool across the street been unable to take on any of "his" children. It left him with Kattegat, as well as a semi-permanent frown creasing on his brow as he studied the forms he needed to fill out. The school's reputation preceded it, and while it was never a complaint about the staff, it made him wary.

"So this is...sorry." The supervisor peered up at the priest from where she'd been leaning over her desk, squinting down at the small boy that had one arm latched around Father Cuthbert's leg, and the other firmly clutching a pale blue blanket to his chest. "How do you pronounce his name?"

"Athelstan," Cuthbert replied easily, eyes on the form. "If I haven't got any information about his family to fill in..?"

"Fill in for the group home he's been staying at," the supervisor replied easily. She was easing her girth up from behind the desk, to come around and get a look at the new child properly. "We'll put in a note about his case, and a copy of his court papers and everything will go in with it once you get it to us." She planted her hands on her knees, leaning down to smile toothily at the child. "Hi there, Athelstan!"

The blanket was so large that it nearly consumed his face, and he buried his nose into it, a physical shield between him and the stranger.

Undeterred by the small introductions happening, Father Cuthbert continued in a sharp, business-like tone. He had a duty to this boy, and getting the paperwork correct was always something that he prided himself on when he enrolled the church's foster children into Lindy Preschool. "All the information the church has on him will be sent over, along with his medical files. Don't let him fool you," he said, pen pressing down hard against the clipboard in his hands. His signature was as stoic as the rest of him. "He's acting shy now, but he can cause trouble when he really gets going."

"Oh, now." The supervisor straightened up from where she was trying to catch Athelstan's eye to take the clipboard from the priest. The minute her attention was off of him, clear blue eyes peered curiously over the top of his portable blanket mountain. She reminded him of one of the nurses at the doctor's office; too loud and acting too familiar for someone he didn't even know. "All our friends are different, he'll settle in just fine, I think." She didn't even have the gall to let her smile falter. "Our other little friends love to meet new people."

 

#

 

The classroom was gently quiet when Father Cuthbert dropped Athelstan off inside, too early for any of the other children to have arrived yet. Two small arms kept heavily occupied by the large blanket crumpled up in his arms, the toddler rubbed his cheeks habitually against the soft fabric, peering around at the unfamiliar surroundings. He barely noticed when his teacher came into the room, her own arms occupied with a laundry basket piled high with washcloths, bibs, blankets, and paint smocks. Once he did notice her, however, he stared up at her with wide eyes, shrinking backwards against Father Cuthbert's legs. 

She didn't try to crouch down and talk at him, though, engaging in a quiet conversation with Father Cuthbert instead. It left his gaze floundering a bit. Athelstan found himself staring out at a low table in the far corner instead. The sunlight was just starting to filter in through the large windows along one entire side of the room, and seemed to be purposefully lighting up a tempting tray of crayons in different bright colours. Athelstan's chubby little fingers twitched a little where he was still clutching his blanket.

He seemed to have missed something, however, because there was a voice calling his name from somewhere above him, lighter toned than he was used to. "Aaaaathelstan," came the sing-song, and there were careful fingertips on his shoulder. "Father Cuthbert's gonna go to work now, okay love? He's going to be back to pick you up tonight, and you're gonna stay here with me."

The boy's little head seemed to bob in the priest's direction (and consequently, his retreating back) for one beat, two, and then back at his teacher with a wide-eyed expression. Something soft and sadly understanding went across the teacher's expression at the child's lack of reaction for his caregiver leaving, but she seemed to shake it off quickly. She held out one hand towards him.

"Closing staff didn't do the laundry last night," she explained to him with a tired smile. "So I had to do it all this morning, and none of it is folded." She kept smiling down at him, one hand offered out towards where his were firmly latched onto his blanket. He directed bright blue eyes up at her, but his expression was blank. She wiggled her fingers a little as if to tempt him. "Want to come with me? You can help me if you want, or you can watch."

When long seconds passed and the little boy did nothing but stare at her, nose and mouth mashed into the well-worn folds of his blanket, she dropped her hand. "Okay, that's fine." She smiled at him for a few more moments, before hoisting her basket of laundry more securely up into one arm, and crossed over to another low table in the middle of the room. It wasn't the one with the crayons, and Athelstan watched her carefully as she tucked her long legs underneath herself and settled into one of the child-sized chairs to start folding the laundry in the basket she'd set down on the floor. Washcloths folded into fours, bibs folded in halves, blankets and towels and bedsheets all smoothed into larger folds that slowly stacked up in a steady, rhythmic pattern on the table.

The room was quiet, and larger than it seemed in its silence. The tables had faded traces of marker scribbles that cleaning products couldn't quite entirely erase. There were stickers on the windows that were filtered to let the light come in, making muted rainbow patterns on the open, freshly-vacuumed carpet. There were toys on the shelves that weren't his toys, and play food in the house center that didn't fit properly in the little dishes they'd been put away on, and there was artwork all over the walls from children that he didn't know. Children he was going to have to meet.

And with a slight backwards glance towards a door that was now securely shut, with a doorknob too high to reach, he confirmed that Father Cuthbert was very much gone, and he was very much stuck here.

"Oh oh ohhh.." The teacher was on her feet immediately upon seeing the little boy's eyes had started to fill up and spill over with tears. His little body had started to shake, and she gathered him up, blanket and all, into her arms. "Shh, shh," she hushed him, bouncing a little in place and rubbing his back. The toddler was stiff and choppy in his aborted movements to pull back from her, like he wasn't used to being held.

She pressed her face into the downy tufts of black curls on his head, where he smelled of baby powder and laundry soap. It was warm to be held like that, and not entirely unpleasant. After a little while of rocking, his solid little body relaxed in her arms, and she felt him tuck his face in somewhere against her collarbone. "It's okay, yeah? Father Cuthbert's going to be back to come and get you this afternoon, and in the meantime you can stay here with me, okay? Yeah, it's okay honey, c'mere, look." She led him back over to the table where she was folding laundry.

"You want to help me?" She arranged him so his chubby little legs and fat round diapered bottom were snugly tucked onto her lap. She tugged the blanket out of his slackened grasp easily, but he had barely started to work up a startled cry when she smoothed it around his legs and torso, safely tucking him in. "There, see? Comfy cosy. You going to help me fold some laundry for the other friends?" The neutral term all the childcare providers seemed to use for the other children in their care fell easily from her tongue, her hands already at work at the pile of clean washing. "They're disasters when they eat, they're going to need these. You wait and see."

Athelstan still didn't make any sounds, but he laid his little hand down over her wrist, and craned his neck backwards to try and get another good look at her face, and that was almost the same anyway.

 

#

 

Half an hour later, Athelstan had moved so that his face was shoved up close against the curve of his teacher's neck, blanket hooked up over his elbow to obscure the rest of his face from the room at large, and seemingly no intention of ever coming out. 

Children had started to arrive quickly once the first two or so were in the door, and the volume in the room was already far too loud for how early in the morning it was. Athelstan peered out between the thin forest of his teacher's braids to spy on the children. Though few, they were boisterous, and nothing like any of the children he'd encountered in his brief childhood thus far in foster care and group homes.

"Use nice touches!" The teacher reprimanded somewhere over Athelstan's head, and he tried to retreat from his situation by stuffing his face back into the folds of his blanket. It startled him when he felt himself being lifted, and then settled on the ground on unsteady feet. The teacher disappeared over to one corner of the room -- _"Floki, we put food in our mouths, not our friends"_ \-- leaving the carpet feeling very large, very unfamiliar, and very exposed.

While Athelstan was feeling stranded, the door opened again.  The entire atmosphere in the room seemed to take on a different tone as a tall, slender woman entered, a toddler balanced on one hip. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a fierce knot at the back of her head, accentuating cheekbones so sharp that they created a permanent expression on her face that bode for no nonsense. Her son had fair hair like she did, the sides of his head shaved to give him a mohawk that was so very uncommon in such a young child that it drew the eye and emphasized the baby-roundness of his features. A second child, older than the one she held and darker-haired, trailed in after them, stopping short behind the woman's legs to peer between them at the room.

"Morning, Ragnar!" Came the teacher's voice from across the room, where she'd ended up having to scoop Floki into her arms to keep him (and his teeth) safely away from the other children. The child in the blonde woman's arms, at being addressed, didn't alter his grumpy expression, one of wide-eyed distaste for having been woken and force-fed breakfast earlier than he'd have liked.

"I had to get him up earlier today," the blonde woman said. Even her voice was cool, aloof. "He didn't want to eat breakfast, so he'll probably be hungry later." She shifted him in her arms. "He's got an extra change of clothes in his cubby, in case he has another accident." Ice-blue eyes, ones that she shared with her youngest son, scanned the room calmly. Like a queen. "I might be a little late picking him up tonight."

"That's fine." The teacher tilted her body down slightly, to indicate that she was no longer speaking to the queenly mother. "Good morning, Rollo."

The dark-haired little boy peeked out from behind his mother's designer jeans, grinning sharply.

"Ragnar's boots are in his cubby too, right?" The teacher confirmed, straightening up again. "We might try to go on a walk later if it stays sunny."

"They should be." Leaning in, the blonde pressed a dry, chaste kiss to her son's cheek. "Be good today."

Ragnar, in the meantime, had gone very still in his mother's arms. Familiar with all aspects of his daily playroom, his gaze had settled very quickly on the lone child in the middle of the carpet, tiny body nearly engulfed by his blue blanket. From the slow, sleepy-eyed blinks he'd worn only a moment earlier, Ragnar had begun to smile in the most devilish manner around the soother planted firmly in his mouth.

"Come on, Rollo," the blonde said, setting Ragnar down on the carpet. "We'll go and drop you off in your room." With little more goodbye to her youngest son than that, she swept back out the door, ushered by the click of her high heels. She swept the door neatly closed again behind her.

"Ragnar," came the call from the teacher. "Do you want to go and put your soother away until sleep time?"

Still grinning, Ragnar shook his head. He was moving on surprisingly steady feet towards the newcomer, having found a target to latch himself onto and not willing to be distracted.

"That's Athelstan," the teacher tried again, shifting Floki where he'd grown heavy in her arms. "He's our new friend and this is his first day."

Giving his soother a determined suckle, Ragnar went back to grinning mischievously around it at Athelstan. The newcomer, for his part, was clutching at his blanket like a lifeline, like it was going to protect him from the strange child approaching him. The novelty soother, made to look like brightly white cartoon vampire teeth from the front, sent Athelstan's little heart hammering frantically against his ribs like a bird.

And then Ragnar's grin grew wider, and he yanked Athelstan's blanket right out of his startled hands. He was already across the room like a little waddling bullet when Athelstan's eyes started to well up with fat, heartbroken tears.

"Ragnar!" The teacher's face was pulled into a frown. "That's not nice, that's not yours! Go give that back to Athelstan."

Ragnar's grin was triumphant. "No." The declaration was muffled around his soother, but firm enough to get his point across. He backed up to lean against the low edge of one of the classroom's windows, arms wrapped firmly around the blanket like a vice.

"Ragnar."

"No."

"Ragnar, do you need to sit at the table with me for a little while?"

" _No!_ "

"Then give Athelstan his blankie back."

Ragnar engaged the teacher in a drawn-out staring match. It was laid to the soundtrack of the other children in the room playing obliviously, and Athelstan sniffling and hiccupping, still over on the carpet. His little feet kept moving back and forth on the spot like he really wanted to go over and yank his blanket back out of Ragnar's hands, but too afraid to actually invite confrontation.

Ragnar's little round face stared down the teacher for one beat. Two. And then he flung the blanket down like it had personally offended him and scurried off to the other end of the playroom, where he immediately started pulling puzzles off the shelf.

"One at a time!" The teacher called, but Athelstan had stopped paying attention to everyone else. He made a direct line for his blanket, gathering it back up into his arms like it had been injured while in Ragnar's clutches, and piled high over his head. Sticking one thumb forcefully in his mouth, he shuffled to hide in the cosy corner where the picture books were (and where the shelf would hide him from Ragnar's view). He created such an efficient nest for himself, their teacher had to count the number of children in the room three times before she found him solemnly turning the pages of a brightly coloured book about dragons with an expression of expectant awe on his pudgy face.

 

#

 

By snack time, the whole group had arrived. Beyond Ragnar (with yoghurt smeared across his entire face) and Athelstan (looking pleasantly surprised at the prospect of a bib that kept food from getting his clothes dirty), there was also Helga with her blonde pigtails, Floki with his tiny souvenir Bike Week t-shirt, and Thyri, smiling and quiet and with hardly any English in her repertoire. The final addition had been Lagertha, all wild braids and wilder grins, and Ragnar hadn't stopped pointing her out triumphantly as his chosen best friend to anyone who would pay attention.

" _Grrrr_!"

"Lagertha," the teacher corrected patiently, spooning more yoghurt into Helga's bowl, only for her to dunk a whole fist into it.

Ragnar grinned in delight and pointed again at Lagertha. " _Grrrr_!"

"Yeah, fine, alright, you're right. La _grrr_ tha."

Ragnar's grin turned absolutely menacing with pride, and he whipped around to direct it at Athelstan. Setting aside the fact that he knocked over his sippy cup of milk in the process, he further used the movement to fling his body forwards and yank the little dark-haired toddler forwards by the fabric of his bib. Too startled, or too terrified, to make a sound, Athelstan merely stared at him with wide, round eyes.

"Ragnar..."

He let the bib go, took Athelstan's graham cracker for himself, and sat back in his chair, laughing happily.

 

#

 

When it was time to go outside, the children were unleashed onto the playground with screams and cheers. Ragnar immediately flung himself headfirst at the linked fence that separated the toddler playground from the preschool one. Curling his little fingers around the links, he ended up pressed forehead-to-forehead with his brother Rollo, who mirrored him in posture and devious grin on the other side. What seemed like brotherly affection soon turned into a headbutting contest that would leave them both with mysterious bruises the next day that their teachers would have to explain to their mother. For now, they were growling at each other as loud as they could, and seemed perfectly happy (and more importantly, occupied), therefore everyone left them alone.

While most of the children raced towards the toy cars, immediately starting fights over who was going to get to play with one first, Athelstan drifted. His teacher had made him keep his blankie inside where it 'wouldn't get dirty', and it left him more exposed to his new environment than ever. His bottom lip stuck out and wobbled in a manner that would have been called theatrical, if it were any other child. It would never have occurred to Athelstan to make himself look sad so as to draw attention. He simply _was_.

He'd tried to latch onto the legs of his teacher, which worked briefly, but after about ten minutes she began to gently pry him off, calmly explaining that he needed to go and play.

The playground was quaint, in its most basic definition. The grass was severely in need of mowing -- something that the staff were currently discussing with each other over the fence -- which meant that when standing, Athelstan felt the blades tickling at his armpits. When he sat down, he was almost entirely hidden.

Through the gentle sway of the tall grass, Athelstan could keep one bright blue eye on the other children in the yard. For the most part, they congealed around the paved area, pushing the plastic cars along with their feet and scuffing up the toes of their shoes. Floki and Helga were at the sandbox a short distance away, balancing carefully on the wooden beams that separated sand from soil, grinning at each other like they knew the secrets to life. Once, Athelstan saw Floki try to tug on the end of one of Helga's braids, only for him to push him harshly off the beam and scurry out of his reach, giggling fiercely. The teacher's voice came wafting across the yard, reprimanding Helga for not using "nice touches", but Floki's grin was nearly as fiercely pleased as hers had been, hopping back up to catch up with her again, grass stains freshly smeared onto his knees. Athelstan, sheltered by the weeds, blinked at the entire exchange in innocent confusion.

Eventually, unable to keep track of all the children on the playground and their strange (and aggressive) ways of playing, Athelstan was thoroughly distracted by a ladybug that was daintily creeping its way up his pant leg. The sun was warm on the dark curls on his head, and the grass smelled sweet. The voices of his young classmates sounded echoing and distant as his eyes slowly tracked the ladybug's progress. His little hands twitched and scratched at the dirt, resisting the basic childish instinct to fidget, but his was loathe to disturb the little creature.

He would bring the ladybug to show his teacher (he couldn't remember her name, but he liked her voice). She knew things, she could do...something. Athelstan wasn't even sure what he wanted to do with the bug, staring down at it with his soft little toddler forehead wrinkling up in concentration that was far too old for his face.

Teacher would know.

The bug had made it to his knee now, and no toddler was good at staying still for very long. Little hands wandered, poking more at the ladybug than in its path, clumsy with still-developing motor skills. The little boy's frown of concentration didn't lift, but his eyes were alight with interest, wondering at the curious path of the tiny insect, and what it would do next. How he could get it onto his finger, while at the same time being slightly afraid of the unknown of it.

Athelstan's nose was nearly pressed curiously against the delicate shell of the ladybug, which meant he didn't realize what the shadow hovering over him meant until he felt a heavy pressure at the back of his head. Making a drawn-out sound that was more whine than words, Athelstan struggled, slumping forwards to try and wriggle free of whatever was pressing down and forwards against his back. A bit of grunting, a bit of shuffling, a bit of well-placed wiggling, and he was free of the heavy weight. Twisting around, and now missing a shoe from the struggle, Athelstan found himself faced with Ragnar's impish grin.

Lips stretched wide and catlike around his teeth, Ragnar pushed at Athelstan's already unsteady little body, knocking him back down on the ground. He shrieked a veritable battle-cry of delight, and pushed Athelstan again when he tried to get up a second time.

Twisting his neck around, Athelstan tried in vain to shoot his wide-eyed sad stare at the teacher, but she was too far away to see what was going on, or to come to his rescue. Athelstan looked around him fruitlessly, vaguely looking for something or someone that might help him, when his gaze fell onto his pant leg. The ladybug was gone.

For the umpteenth time that morning, Athelstan's eyes began to well up and fill with tears. "Buh," came the dismayed cry, his first proper attempt at words all day. He patted at his leg, like he could magically make the ladybug come back if he swatted at the area hard enough. " _Buh_."

Ragnar was staring down at him, the sun filtering through what was left of the hair on his mostly-shaved head. Athelstan became more agitated the longer the moment progressed, face twisting in distress and clawing at his pant leg and the nearby ground, hiccupping for his bug. Ragnar stared, and stared, and when Athelstan inhaled sharply, prepping an angry shriek of _"BUH!"_ in Ragnar's face, the blonde toddler reached out and shoved Athelstan harshly back down to the ground with a frown that was almost thoughtful.

Then he ran away.

 

#

 

The classroom was cool and shady after all the bright morning sunlight, and Lagertha ended up being the only one to struggle when it came time to get buckled into their little wooden seats for lunch, after she'd already had a bit of trouble in the washroom, struggling when it was time to get her diaper changed.

_"Someone's tiiiiiired," came the gentle sing-song of the teacher as she pulled her little clothes back into place, sending Lagertha on her way to the lunch table._

Heat and sunlight had made little tummies start to rumble, and they were all reaching eagerly for their sippy cups and fussing impatiently in their chairs for plates to be doled up and cut up to the right sizes before being passed over. Ragnar even forgot to fight at his bib after it was tied on, too focused on turning his cup upside-down and watching the milk steadily drip onto the surface of the table.

_"Ragnar, use your cup properly or I'm going to take it away," came the calm warning, accompanied by the teacher's hand turning it the right way up._

Athelstan had never tried fish in his life, and was sitting very still in his chair. His eyes went to the plate, to Helga beside him, to his teacher, to the window over his shoulder. Back to the plate again, and then a wistful stare at the art table where the crayons were.

_"Little bites," came the teacher's soft coaxing, reaching out and putting a tiny portion onto Athelstan's fork. "Try little bites, Athelstan. You're going to be hungry later."_

He didn't try it, but drank his milk instead.

Everyone was a mess by the time the plates were relatively cleared, and Athelstan struggled and cried out when his face was wiped down with a damp washcloth. It scratched at his skin, and he didn't seem to like the way the teacher laughed at the faces he made. Once he'd been unstrapped from his chair, he hovered near the table, watching askance as Ragnar had his face wiped down, his mouth trying to catch the washcloth and suck on it whenever it came too close to his lips, laughing the whole way along.

"Come on, Athelstan," came a soft voice above him shortly afterwards, and he looked around with a startled expression to find himself suddenly alone at the table. Ragnar had bounded with reckless enthusiasm towards a cot on the carpet, flinging himself face-first onto it. The teacher reached down and wrapped Athelstan's small hand in her much larger one. "Let's go find your bed."

She led him to a cot next to Ragnar, low to the ground and, _oh_ , his blankie was already on it. Crawling onto the cot, Athelstan buried his face into its familiar soft folds, deeply inhaling. The lights were turned off and the shades drawn, and someone had turned on a playlist of soft lullabies, leaving the music wafting gently through the room. Athelstan curled up onto his side, only to be face-to-face with Ragnar, soother firmly in place between his lips. He was wrapped head to toe around a stuffed toy goat, its fur matted down and coaxed into softness from extra use, and its nose well-worn and faded from too many bedtime kisses. He was staring with wide-open eyes at Athelstan, while the room around them started to settle down into quiet. His grin crooked around the apple of his cheek, just beyond the barrier of his soother, and then he rolled over.

Athelstan couldn't settle.

The room felt too big again, with everyone nestled into their beds and the lights off. There was a wide expanse of stillness in the air, jarring after the flurries of activity and noise. The furniture created shapes and shadows in the half-dark that were unfamiliar and oddly shaped. The carpet didn't feel as wide because of the little cot beds lined up on it, but dark enough that it was like dangling over a void unless one was tucked securely into their bed. Athelstan clung to his blanket and trembled a little until his teacher tugged it out of his hands and draped it over him, tucking it in snugly around his sides. A layer of protection between him and his new surroundings.

"Time for a rest," came her soft whisper, and Athelstan responded to softness like he was starved for it. He rested on his stomach, dark curls poking out from beneath his blanket, and watched the curve of Ragnar's head across from him in the dark. There was a hand on his back, smoothing calm, rhythmic circles on top of the blanket. It felt warm.

It felt like being safe.

Athelstan's eyes fluttered closed, and next to him, Ragnar was already passed out, vampire-teeth soother glowing faintly in the darkness. He slept like a rock, mouth half-open and snoring in little grunts. Now and again his feet would twitch, like even in sleep he was preparing to run. The teacher adjusted his blanket over him, so his toes wouldn't get cold.

Across the room, Lagertha was still awake. Now and again she'd make a little chirping sound, only to be hushed by a teacher, blanket laid back over her. _"All done, Lagertha, night-night."_ She'd be awake for at least another half hour, kicking her feet and rolling back and forth on her bed, trying to reach the bin of toys on the shelf near her with stretching fingertips. She'd wake up exhausted and cranky, like she did every day.

Next to her, Floki was also asleep. He had one of the daycare's standard blankets draped over him, asleep on his front with his knees tucked up to his chest and his little diapered bum up in the air. None of his teachers understood how it could be comfortable, but he wouldn't move until forcibly woken up when nap time was over. He also had a tendency to cling to one of his shoes like it was a stuffed toy to cuddle.

Helga was on her bed, but occupied with a few brightly coloured board books and her doll with its tightly-wound yellow yarn braids. She never slept long, and so her teachers kept her awake and quiet for as long as possible, to keep her from waking up the others later on.

They were darling, really.

When they were sleeping and quiet, that was.

 

#

 

The hassle of waking everyone up and feeding them a second snack (cucumbers this time, with Ranch dressing that Lagertha kept dipping her well-sucked thumb into and licking off) went by in a breathless blur, and Athelstan was clinging to his blanket again, wide-eyed with fear and creases still pressed into his face where he'd pressed his cheek hard into the folds of his blanket while he napped. They were all even noisier now, barrelling back and forth across the room like a stampede, and Ragnar in particular was _not_ happy about being told that they weren't going outside yet.

"Syy!"

"We're not going outside yet, Ragnar." The teacher wasn't even looking at him from where she was writing something on the clipboard in her hands, and Ragnar banged his little palms against the low windowpane to emphasize his point. He was staring longingly out at the playground, where the sun was still shining enticingly. "Syy!"

"Not yet, love."

Ragnar's voice took on a high-pitched whining tone. "Syy-yyyy!"

"Ragnar, _no_."

Taking on all the qualities of a rag doll, Ragnar immediately went limp. His mouth practically took over his face in a wide, open wail, starting low in his throat and making its way progressively upwards to a full out shriek. He sat on the ground like the world had come to an end, a tragedy of toddler existence, slumped and sad and sobbing. Athelstan hovered at the edge of the carpet, blanket bundled up in his arms, staring.

"Raaaaagnar," came the sing-song coaxing from the teacher. "We're not going outside yet, honey. Put your tears away, we're gonna have circle." The last of her words were drowned out by Ragnar's furious screams increasing in volume, and the teacher tugged on Athelstan's elbow, pulling him away. "Come on, let's leave him alone, he's not hurt, he's just angry."

Athelstan found himself set down to sit on the carpet by the books, full of bright shapes he liked to look at, and black squiggles that he didn't understand. He was sitting on an orange triangle, while Lagertha scurried on hands and knees to get to the green circle. Floki ignored the shapes altogether and tried to squeeze into the fraction of free space between Helga and the bookshelf, leading to him flopping practically on top of her. She kicked him once, he grinned, and they settled like that fairly comfortably.

Across the room, Ragnar was still screaming furiously by the window.

"He's not hurt," the teacher's reminder came again. Athelstan would have kept staring back at the noise, but then their teacher started to sing. The new little friend didn't know the tune, and didn't know the words, but it was _music_. He liked music. He liked it when they brought him to church on Sundays, and everybody was singing. This was different, and more upbeat, and Athelstan's eyes were wide with amazement, rather than the watery, half-formed tears that had been threatening all day.

_"This is a song about Hel-ga, Hel-ga, Hel-ga, this is a song about Hel-ga, 'cause Helga is our friend."_

The merry Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush tune was punctuated with clapping by the teacher as she sang, and while Athelstan's eyes were wide and curious, his little body had unconsciously started to sway in time to the beat, enraptured by the way that their names -- _their names!_ \-- were being incorporated into the song. School was strange, and people were frightening, but having his blanket close helped, and he liked the music. It could be okay, maybe, as long as no one tried to scream in his face anymore.

While no one was paying attention to him in the corner, Ragnar had also picked up the tune of the music. Furious wails drifted into hiccupping distressed noises, and eventually he was blinking silently through a few straggling tears at the group assembled on the carpet. Inside his velcro-light-up-Marvel-Thor shoes, his little toes had begun to wriggle a little. _A song with names in it._

Cheeks flushed red with crying and exertion, Ragnar slowly picked his way across the room. His mouth was still turned down in a lingering pout, like he wasn't sure that he was finished having a fit about not getting what he wanted. The teacher's eyes flitted over to him, and she smiled encouragingly, starting up another round. _"This is a song about Rag-nar, Rag-nar, Rag-nar..."_ A smile started to stretch across Ragnar's face, clashing oddly with the tears still lingering in the corners of his eyes.

The game ended when Ragnar's stomping dance landed on one of Athelstan's hands, and he began scream-sobbing in earnest, clutching at his fingers.

Ragnar kept dancing, hopping gleefully in place at having all the attention on him.

 

#

 

Back outside again, the afternoon sunlight was starting to lengthen shadows across the playground, and Athelstan had immediately gravitated to the safe shelter of grass that had kept him so well hidden earlier that morning. Blanket tucked safely away indoors again, he was flat on his stomach this time, hidden even lower down behind the grasses, and very seriously following the progress of an ant. It was crawling over the little microscopic pebbles of dirt and new shoots of grass beginning to poke through, and Athelstan hadn't forgotten the ladybug of that morning, but this was something close. The sounds of the other children were far away again, and it was almost like being alone, if his teacher didn't keep peeking over the grass and making sure that he was still okay.

Instead of a shadow looming over him to alert him of forthcoming danger, Athelstan instead jumped when Ragnar simply flopped himself down in front of him. His grin was wide and toothy, all trace of previous tears gone, and one side of his head was smeared with dirt. With enthusiasm, he thrust one pudgy fist towards Athelstan's face.

"Buh!"

Gritty dirt-crusted fingernails and sweaty palm opened up to present a very smushed worm.

Athelstan stared.

"Buh." Ragnar triumphantly announced again, and slapped the ill-fated worm down on the ground in front of Athelstan. "Buh."

"Ragnar, look who's here!" The teacher's voice drifted from across the playground, and the shadow was back over Athelstan, but this time when he squinted up into the afternoon sunlight, it was the older preschooler that Ragnar had come in with that morning.

Rollo was staring down at the new little toddler with something almost like interest, crouching down low into a squat to stare.

Then he promptly squished the worm.

"NOO!" Ragnar smacked at his brother with all the might of his full arm. "MINE!!" He seemed thoroughly rattled by the way his brother was grinning toothily, obviously extremely proud of himself for garnering such a reaction.

"Ragnar and Rollo!" Came the call, a little sterner. "Mommy's here, it's time to go!"

Rollo ambled away again, but Ragnar stayed in place, along with his frown. "Mine," he insisted again, and this time he had a fistful of Athelstan's shirt instead. Athelstan, for his part, blinked at the action like it was a novelty that he'd never encountered before, and wasn't sure what to do with.

"Come on mister." Ragnar's little fingers were prised away from Athelstan's shirt, and he was up and flying and away, tucked into his mother's arms. "We have to go have supper and then Rollo has soccer, we have to go."

"Mineeeee!" The shrieks followed the retreating family all the way back inside.

Athelstan stayed where he was. He tasted the worm, and seemed undecided about the flavour. He wandered off in the direction of the toy push cars, instead.

 

#

 

"He had a really good day."

The teacher was rubbing Athelstan's back soothingly as she spoke to Father Cuthbert around the lump of blanket and boy that were both folded snugly into her arms. The classroom had settled into something almost like the calm from that morning, with slight alterations. Floki was still there, currently at the easel and apparently trying his absolute best to rip a hole in the paper simply by soaking it with as much paint from his brush as possible. There was a laundry basket on one of the tables again, except this time full of dirty bibs and washcloths that needed to be cleaned before the next morning, and the sun wasn't coming from the same side of the room anymore, giving everything a more muted feel.

"He was a little sad at some points," the teacher continued, gently pulling Athelstan away from where he'd curled up tiredly against her neck. "But that's understandable, he'll probably feel better off in the next few days, once he gets used to everything."

There were a few other pleasantries and farewells exchanged, but once Athelstan was passed back into Father Cuthbert's arms, he was no longer listening. It was quiet again, something he hadn't known to miss before, and it had been a long afternoon of playing and sunshine since his nap.

"See you tomorrow, Aaaathelstan," came the call, stretching out his name into music again as he was carried back out through the doors.

The feral grin of the cat on the sign was still terrifying as he was carried past it, and down the drive. Back to home. Back to normal. Back to eat your beans, and put your tears away Athelstan, you're fine, and back to his little bed in the room he shared with the other foster children, with the rails along the sides so he didn't roll out in the middle of the night. Back to everything that was familiar and routine, and safe.

Until tomorrow, anyway.

After all, Ragnar would be back. And this time, he would know what kind of prey (or, maybe, friend) he'd be looking for.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by actual children I teach and un-beta'd (as well as hastily finished late at night), so any mistakes are mine. I may continue with drabbles in this 'verse in the future.


End file.
